Chapter 1 - Thatcher
January 16, 2010
The most disheartening thing about life is that you never know when it’s your last chance to make the most of it. As Thatcher Williams walked into a hole-in-the-wall California bar, he definitely didn’t expect it to be the last place he ever walked into.
“Uh, barkeep,” He lifted a finger to the man that stood at the other end of the bar as he took a seat at the counter. The bartender nodded his way, acknowledging Thatcher as he finished tending to the people in front of him.
“What can I do for you, hombre?” The bartender asked once he was in front of him. Thatcher noticed that his nametag read “Elliot”.
“Yeah, uh… can I just get a Heineken?”
The bartender tapped the counter, “All right, coming right up, man.”
Thatcher sighed. Today had been a long, terrible day. Just as he grabbed his phone out of his back pocket, someone sat next to him. He ignored them as he checked social media. Suddenly, he heard them clear their throat.
He looked up, slightly annoyed, until he noticed who sat beside him. A busty redhead sat on the bar stool beside him with a smirk on her face. “Hey, hot shot. Who’s a girl gotta flash around here to get a beer?”
She spoke in a southern accent too deep for California. Tourist, Thatcher concluded.
He slapped on his most charismatic smile, “Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t have a problem finding someone.”
She leaned a little closer at him. “How about you?”
Before he could respond, the bartender placed a green beer bottle in front of him. “Sorry it took so long, man.”
He waved a hand, “No problem.” Glancing at the girl, he added, “How about one for the lady, yeah?”
As the bartender nodded and walked off, the redhead’s next question was: “Don’t you wanna know the lady’s name?”
Thatcher shook his head. “If l know the lady’s name, I’ll want to sleep with the lady because I’m sure her name is just as beautiful as she is.”
“What makes you think that the lady doesn’t have a little something called self-respect?” Her retort was fiery, but he noticed her cheeks redden at his words.
“I don’t doubt that she does, which makes this even harder… Thatcher.” He held out a hand for her to shake.
She shook it, “Well, hello, Thatcher. I’m Kathy.”
Thatcher took a swig of beer as the bartender dropped a cold one in front of her.
#
Thatcher stumbled out of the Los Angeles pub, the combined sound of nightlife and his heartbeat pumping in his ears. I just had one beer, he thought, I shouldn’t be this… fucked up.
He had almost forgotten where he was until the redhead snaked an arm around me.
“I got you,” she said.
What was her name again? Valarie? Jessica? No, that wasn’t it.
“You seem pretty out of it there, buddy. Guessing you’re lightweight, am I right?” He tried to tell her no, but it seemed to come out as gibberish to her. “Don’t strain yourself. I’ll take that as a yes.”
No! This isn’t right, something is going on.
“You’ll be fine,” she said. “My car is... right over there.”
God, what was her name? Janet? Fuck, no, that’s not it.
She led him to a shiny, black SUV that sat in the corner of the parking lot. Thatcher wanted to stop her-- to tell her that he was fine. He could walk home. He wanted to tell her all of this, but whatever was causing him to lose balance was also causing a speech problem.
Was it Kathy? Kathy, yes! Good, now tell her you’re fine.
“Ka… Kath…” He couldn’t say it. “I… fi…”
He was completely out of it; someone must of drugged him, but how, when?
Kathy ignored his piss-poor attempt to resist her guidance. “Just calm down, I’ll get you where you need to go.”
The driver’s side back door opened before they even reached the car. A teenage girl was forcefully pushed out of the backseat as Thatcher felt himself being pushed forward. It took all of his might to stay upright.
The younger girl ran forward. Her hair matched Kathy’s and, aside from the slightly frightened expression on the girl’s face, they also shared matching features.
He glanced back at Kathy with a confused look as she embraced the girl in a tight hug. “It’s going to be fine, Ellie,” she told the girl. To Thatcher, with teary eyes, she said, “I’m so sorry. They were going to kill my sister.”
The driver’s side window revealed a man in a black suit. The shadows kept his face hidden as another man emerged from the backseat. “Get outta here,” he told Kathy. Both girls ran off without hesitation as he turned back to Thatcher with a smug look. “Mr. Williams, how’s it going? Get in, we’ll take a ride.”
All he could manage was a head shake as he tried to walk away. One step back and Thatcher felt himself stumble, but the man that had emerged from the backseat grabbed him before he could hit the ground.
“Pl-- please, man,” he said as he was escorted into the SUV.
He was ignored and as soon as the car door was closed after them, he felt the car moving. He didn’t know where he was was anymore, or where he was going. The only thing he knew was that the drugs were taking over, and he wasn’t strong enough to fight as they pulled him into unconsciousness.
#
Thatcher woke up to the pungent odor of rotten eggs. He was suddenly more aware when he noticed that he sat in an unfamiliar, dimly lit room. He sat on the tiled floor, arms tied behind his back.
What the hell? He struggled against the cold iron chain that he found wrapped around his wrists and ankles.
“You’re awake!” Someone exclaimed as they walked into the room. “Oh, don’t try struggling, you’ll just get tired for nothing.”
Thatcher’s eyes widened as he felt his heart begin to race. “You? You’re behind this?”
They nodded, “Do you like the whole plan I put together? I slipped you a little something, hired you a ride-- ”
“No! No, I do not like this!” He felt the pain in his wrists as he struggled against his restraints. “Listen, w- whatever your problem is we can talk it out!”
His captor smiled cruelly. “Oh, we can talk it out? Just talk it out like you wanted to do last year?!” They called over their shoulder, “Get in here!”
Two men dressed in all black walked into the room. “Yeah?” One man answered.
“Please help Mr. Williams find a seat.”
The two larger men stalked over to Thatcher, each grabbing one of his arms and dragging him over to a metal chair that sat near a tray with an array of tools. Thatcher noted how cold everything was as one of the men strapped him to him down in the old dentist style chair.
The man had just fastened the leather strap that was tightly drawn to his chest as his kidnapper grabbed a silver tool off of the tray.
Oh, shit. Why? “N-- please, please let me go! You know me, you know my little sister. How could you do this?” This was no longer a possible joke, this was life or death.
Thatcher felt the need to beg for his own life as a, surprisingly warm, knife being pressed to his throat.
They ignored his pleas. “You wanna know what my problem is?” Thatcher nodded weakly. “My problem is that you underestimate me today, the same way that you underestimated me all that time ago. The fact is… you just don’t know who you’re messing with Thatcher Williams.”
